Clean Slate

by Heidi Champa

  “Nope.”

  I let myself be pulled, letting my suitcase slip from my sweaty palm and back onto the foyer floor. As soon as I could, I dropped Nick’s hand and sat on the couch. Nick continued to the window, staring out into the city for a long moment before facing me.

  “Okay. What else is there to say?”

  He became very matter-of-fact, and I started to get worried.

  “I want some more information,” he said, glancing at the ceiling.

  I felt confusion wash over me. It was the last thing I expected him to say.

  “Okay. About what?”

  “About this boredom. When did it start?” he asked with a shrug.

  There was no way this conversation should happen. There had to be a way out of it, somehow.

  “Nick, I’m not sure I understand what you want. You want me to pinpoint the day my boredom with you started?”

  “Yes, I do. Now tell me.”

  I sighed. This was a mistake, but I didn’t know what else to do but tell the truth.

  “Okay. I guess if I had to put a date on it, I’d say, like, six months ago.”

  “Six months? You’ve been miserable for six months and haven’t said a word to me?”

  My plan was starting to unravel and I had no idea how to stop it. But if we had to fight first, I was happy to do it if it meant I could leave when we were done.

  “Maybe not miserable, but not happy.”

  He shook his head, the judgment all over his face.

  “That doesn’t make any sense, Wes. That’s not how adults handle things that are bothering them. They don’t hold it all in and then skulk away without a word.”

  “I know.”

  “So then why did you wait so long to react to this boredom? Why didn’t you try to change things or, at the very least, let me know how you felt?”

  I hung my head, still not having any idea how to explain the unexplainable.

  “That probably would have been the smarter thing to do,” I agreed.

  “Then why didn’t you do it?” he asked, acid dripping from his voice.

  I swallowed and tried to remember to breathe. This was excruciating. I thought again of the right thing to say, but there didn’t seem to be much point. There was no right thing to say. Nothing I said would make any sense to Nick. I knew that. If only I could get him to see it too.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re lying. There has to be a reason.”

  “If you say so, Nick.”

  I got up from the sofa. He winced, walking toward me quickly. I could hear his heavy breathing. His eyes locked on mine.

  “I really can’t believe you were just going to walk out on me. Me. If anything, I’m the one who should be kicking you out.”

  “Then go ahead. I won’t mind,” I said, my sarcasm getting the better of me.

  He looked self-satisfied. One of his least attractive faces.

  “You really are a bastard, you know that, Wes?” he spat.

  He took a step closer, and I fought every urge to step away. Fear ran through me, and for a moment, I worried Nick would do something drastic. Like punch me out. I decided to try and save myself and my nose.

  “I really am sorry, Nick.”

  His face softened a bit, the silence stretching out between us. He leaned in just a few inches, and I waited for the fist to swing my way. Instead, he shocked me when he wrapped me in his arms.

  “I know, Wes. I know.”

  His hand rubbed up and down my back, as if he were trying to soothe me.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m hugging you.”

  “Why?”

  He pulled back and was smiling. This was freaking weird.

  “Because I love you, stupid.”

  “Okay.”

  “And because, now that we’ve started to talk, we can try and get past this.”

  He pulled back and started to relax. He strolled into the kitchen, almost as if nothing had happened. I started to panic. This was not going the way I thought it would.

  “What do you mean, get past this?”

  “Exactly like it sounds. This whole thing is only going to make us stronger, you’ll see. I’ll call my therapist first thing in the morning and see if she can fit us in later this week. We can start working on things. Get back on track. Maybe we can even tackle some of your weird commitment stuff and the stuff from your past you won’t talk about. It would be nice to finally get to the bottom of that whole mess. I know there’s something you’re not telling me on that front, but we can leave that for later, once we get past this little move-out debacle.”

  My head was spinning, and I started to sweat. I knew Nick was invested in our relationship, but this was taking it to a whole new level. He wanted to go to therapy. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I stood stock-still, my palms moist and clammy. I pictured us on an uncomfortable couch in an office with banal décor that was intended to be calming, Nick next to me, holding my hand, while the therapist made notes as I regaled them with the tales of why Wes is such a fuckup. I swore I’d never go back to therapy, and I wasn’t about to change my mind now.

  “Whoa. You want us to go to therapy?”

  “Yeah. Of course. What else would we do?”

  I bit my tongue to keep what was really on my mind from coming out, trying to be diplomatic instead.

  “Um. Well, I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll really like Cheryl. She’s been great for me.”

  “Nick, are you sure this is a good idea?”

  His face clouded with confusion for a moment, but then a smile appeared.

  “Oh, I get it. You’re worried Cheryl won’t be impartial. Well, we can see someone else, then. I’m sure she can recommend someone fantastic. You’re right. Maybe we should see someone who specializes in couples. Then, if you want to, you could go by yourself and work on some of your own stuff.”

  God, he had an answer for everything. So typical of him. He was making it impossible for me to get out of this relationship. I had literally already packed, but he was still trying to keep me from leaving.

  “That’s not what I meant. I don’t think Cheryl is the problem.”

  “Then what’s the problem? You do want to fix this, don’t you, Wes?”

  I didn’t know what to say. Answering honestly meant more discussion, and I was not ready for that. But agreeing to therapy was not going to happen. There had to be a way out.

  “Um, yeah. I guess.”

  “You guess? What the hell does that mean?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Nick started pacing again, the teakettle still in his hand.

  “Jesus, back to that again. It’s a simple question. Just tell me the truth,” he said.

  I had no choice. I wanted out, and this might be my only chance. This was not how I saw the night going. At all.

  “Okay, fine. Therapy was the last thing I thought you’d suggest.”

  Nick stopped before turning on the stove, dropping the kettle with a clang. He blinked a few times and sneered.

  “Oh. So you were serious about moving out. This wasn’t just some stunt just to get attention,” he asked matter-of-factly.

  I sighed, ready for this whole thing to be over.

  “No, Nick. You weren’t supposed to be home tonight. That’s why I was leaving tonight. This was not some ploy to get attention. I’m not willing to go to therapy. I want out.”

  He paced some more, his mind clearly whirring a mile a minute. He started muttering again until he faced me. Nick’s face was like stone, and his voice came out eerily calm.

  “Jesus. You really are cold-blooded, aren’t you?”

  Hearing it out loud made me feel like an ass, and before I could stop it, the denial was out of my mouth.

  “I am not.”

  He smiled as if it was all falling into place for him.

  “Holy shit. I can’t believe I ever believed you loved
me. Not that you ever had the decency to say the actual words. Just your pathetic ‘me too’ when I would say it.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but I didn’t have it in me.

  “I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t really think it was anything to worry about.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

  He shook his head, his face unreadable as he moved around the kitchen without a purpose.

  “I thought you were over not wanting a real relationship. Not wanting to spend your life with someone. I thought we were on the same page.”

  We had talked about the future all the time. Well, mostly Nick talked and I agreed, unable to tell him the truth. I didn’t blame him for thinking I was on board. I’d never told him otherwise. Until now.

  “Maybe I just don’t want a future with you,” I said defensively, even though I knew it was the last thing I should say.

  “So you decide to leave like a coward. Not even look me in the face and tell me it’s over. You were just going to bail.”

  I shrugged, realizing too late how it might look to him.

  “Seemed easier than the alternative. But you should be happy. You got your face-to-face breakup after all.”

  His mouth fell open, a stunned look on his face, and I tried to do damage control. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I—”

  He put his hand up like he’d done before when he wanted to shut me up but still wanted to be an adult about it.

  “You really are a fucking child, Wes.”

  He said it with such derision, I had to respond. I did what all people who are completely in the wrong do. Tried to turn my mistakes around on him.

  “Oh, spare me, Nick. I’m so tired of your sanctimonious bullshit.”

  “I think under the circumstances I have the right to be a little sanctimonious,” he responded.

  “Please, like it’s the first time. You’ve always thought you were better than me.”

  He smiled, but it was anything but kind.

  “Oh, I don’t just think it. I know I’m better than you.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “No, fuck you, Wes. I should have listened to my instincts. I knew from the start we didn’t want the same things, but you’d come such a long way, I’d managed to convince myself you were different than you were when we first met. You’d made so much progress. All I wanted was for you to be a better person. A better man.”

  I laughed, which seemed to surprise him.

  “Maybe I don’t want to be a better man. Sorry this little project didn’t work out for you, Nick. But I’m a fucking person, not some job you’ve been hired to do. I didn’t ask to be changed, to be turned into something I’m not. If you really loved me, you should love me for who I am, not who you can make me into.”

  He rolled his eyes, his face getting red as he started to speak. “Oh, please, sweetie. You love playing the scared, little-boy-lost card. You’re begging to be fixed. You hint at this past trauma, these hurts that made you who you are today. You say you’ve worked through it, but clearly you haven’t. But you won’t talk about it either. And, as soon as I get close to you, as soon as it seems like you’re going to open up, you pull this shit and run away. Literally.”

  “That is so not true, Nick.”

  Of course every word he said was true.

  “Sure it is.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised that Nick had figured me out. I mean, he was smarter than all the other guys I’d dated. By far. Or maybe I wasn’t nearly as clever as I thought I was. Or maybe it was because he was the first guy in ages I actually cared about, and that scared the shit out of me. He summed me up so well, I would have thought he’d already talked to my old shrink. Of course there was no way I was going to let him know how right he was. Not a chance.

  “All you had to do was talk to me. But no,” he said, his words filled with regret.

  He went bursting out of the kitchen, full of fire. All I could do was follow and sigh.

  “Maybe I didn’t feel like talking. Christ, all we ever did was talk. There was nothing left to say. So I did something instead.”

  He put his hands on his hips and smirked at me.

  “Oh sure. Turning tail and running like a little bitch sure is something.”

  “Well, we can’t all be as mature and levelheaded as you,” I said with a derisive chuckle.

  He closed the distance between us, stopping a step short.

  “Oh, please. I can’t believe you’re trying to blame this on me.”

  I shook my head and backed away from him.

  “No. I know this is all my fault. You’ve always been the good one and I’ll always be the bad one. Which is I’m sure what you’ll tell everyone when you relay the story about what an asshole I am.”

  “Don’t worry. Our friends already know what an asshole you are. Most of them can barely stand you, Wes.”

  I laughed, my exhaustion and anger making me delirious.

  “Please, they were never my friends. They’re just like you, only accepting of me if I met their standards. I know they all told you not to date me.”

  His face had turned red, his fury reaching a boiling point. I was just hoping we were almost done with this fight. I didn’t know if I had the strength for much more.

  “Advice I should have taken. They all knew I was slumming. Well, live and learn.”

  “I guess so.”

  We stood across from each other in the dining room we never used, silence building between us. The sun was starting to peek over the horizon. I rubbed a hand over my face, and Nick sighed.

  “Well, I guess you’re going to get what you want, Wes.”

  “Good.”

  He went on, undeterred by my response.

  “This”—he pointed back and forth between us for emphasis before continuing—“is over. I want you out of this apartment. I want you out of my life.”

  “No problem. I’m already done packing,” I said, gesturing to my suitcase.

  Nick stalked to me, getting closer than I thought he would.

  “Good—then get the fuck out!”

  I wanted to smile, as I’d finally gotten him to throw me out. Just not in the way I’d planned.

  “With pleasure.”

  I got to the door, but something made me stop. His eyes left mine, focusing instead on the framed photo on the wall next to him. I had totally forgotten about the picture. It was an old black-and-white photo of a broken motel sign. I loved it; Nick hated it, but he’d relented and let me hang it a few months back. In all my packing, I hadn’t thought to take it with me.

  “Don’t forget this tacky piece of crap,” he said, yanking the frame from the wall.

  I took a step toward him to retrieve it, but he threw it to the floor, the glass shattering into a million pieces. I was stunned for a moment, my brain unable to comprehend what Nick had just done. It was so unlike him. Finally, when my mind snapped back to life, I crouched down and picked up the picture, shaking the loose glass to the floor.

  “I always hated that photo. I still can’t believe I let you hang it,” he said, his voice cracking a bit.

  Without a word, I turned to the door, Nick right behind me. He lurked while I got my wallet and keys out of the bowl. I removed the apartment key and handed it to him. His eyes were red with tears.

  “I am sorry, Nick.”

  “Stop saying that. You’re not sorry you’re leaving.”

  He had a point there, but my apology still stood for a different reason.

  “No, I’m sorry I’m such a fuckup.”

  He shook his head and leaned against the wall.

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  He reached past me and pulled the door open. I walked out but stopped just beyond the threshold. We looked at each other, and I tried to think of something to say. He beat me to the punch.

  “Oh, by the way, Wes. One more thing,” he said, his voice quiet.

>   “What’s that?”

  He smiled for a moment, and then his smile turned into a sneer.

  “You’re fired.”

  With that, the door slammed in my face.

  CHAPTER 3

  I HAD no idea where to go when I left Nick’s. Everything I owned was in the back of my car. The sun was barely up, but I knew the coffee shop across the street would be open, so I headed over to drown my woes in caffeine. After I ordered, I stared at my phone, scrolling through my contacts, trying to find someone I could turn to, someone who would be willing to help me out. Moving out of my boyfriend’s house without a plan or a place to go seemed like a really stupid idea all of a sudden. All the names of my “friends” stared back at me, but not a single one of them would take an ounce of pity on me. I stopped at the one name I knew I could always count on. Even though I dreaded what was coming, I pressed the Call button and held my breath. Daniel answered after two rings.

  “Bro, what are you doing up at this hour?”

  I sighed and tried to sound more enthusiastic than I was.

  “I need your help, man.”

  “Why, what’s up?”

  “I moved out of Nick’s place,” I said reluctantly.

  I hadn’t expected him to be super sympathetic, but I didn’t expect him to laugh. “Daniel, I’m not really in the mood.”

  “I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry. It’s just, well, I don’t know what else to do but laugh at your crap,” he said.

  I put my head down on the table at the coffee shop, not caring how it looked.

  “Can we save bashing me for later? Can I crash with you for a while or what?”

  I expected an answer right away, but he hesitated far too long for my liking.

  “Fine. I guess so,” he said with very little enthusiasm.

  “Great. Thanks.”

  He started muttering, and I didn’t know if that was a bad sign or a good one. After a minute, he spoke so I could hear him again.

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re gonna owe me. Big.”

  “Just add it to the list. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” We both knew I had no intention of doing so.

  “Yeah, you’re damn right you will.” His voice dripped with irritation.